


Longing For Some Solitary Company

by Bonymaloney



Category: What We Do in the Shadows (2014)
Genre: Ass Eating (not at Denny’s), Denny’s, Doggy Style, F/M, Grinding, Naked Female Clothed Male, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Oral Sex, Werewolf Courting, Werewolf Reveal, Werewolf Sex, Werewolf Turning, Werewolves, implied animal death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2019-04-17 01:10:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14177328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bonymaloney/pseuds/Bonymaloney
Summary: Is there such a thing as a good way to learn your boyfriend is actually a werewolf?There’s only one way to find out...





	Longing For Some Solitary Company

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CharalampidisGruber](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharalampidisGruber/gifts).



PJ grinned as she wriggled out of her jeans and retrieved the bottle of champagne from her hold-all. Her boyfriend didn’t know she’d found his air bnb receipt. Anton had a warm smile, and she loved his red hair, his enthusiasm. He had a regular schedule at work that took him away on business once a month, and she’d decided to take the opportunity treat him. 

There was always something fun about hotel room sex, and she was only slightly disappointed to discover that he wasn’t staying in a hotel. In fact the building was rather run down, but if anything, she thought, that was very like Anton. He was very conscientious, and he’d probably wanted to save his boss money by booking somewhere out of the way. 

Besides, it was what you did with it that counted... her underwear was new, her lipstick was red, and she was well supplied with candles, toys and lube. There were even some thick, juicy looking steaks in the refrigerator for after. All she needed now was the man himself. 

She heard a key in the lock and quickly arranged herself, perching saucily on the edge of the table with her legs crossed and her shoulders back. Anton exclaimed in surprise at the sight of her, dropping the crate he was carrying with a surprisingly heavy crash. He was drinking her in with his eyes, but to her disappointment instead of the reaction she’d been hoping for, he looked like he didn’t know what to do with himself.

Anton didn’t know what to do with himself. 

After the recent... events... surrounding the Unholy Masquerade, he’d taken the decision as alpha that the Pack ought to transform in private, rather than out in the open where any bunch of nosy vamps could come across them. He rented an old building that looked more like a shed than anything else and was on the edge of an industrial estate. The owners were presumably looking to cash in on hapless tourists who thought it had character, and they were never around much, which was the way Anton liked it.

He’d come to the usual spot to chain himself up - after seeing to his mates first, of course, that was an alpha’s responsibility - only to be greeted by the sight of his girlfriend, holding a bottle of something fizzy and wearing only deep red lingerie. 

He’d never expected to find a relationship after what had happened to him, and he had resigned himself to a series of fleeting, anonymous couplings with other werewolves, but he’d met PJ at the company’s annual picnic and touch rugby game and he had to admit, the way she looked holding a pair of barbecue tongs had made him want to sit up and beg. She was a good hostess when the Pack came over, and she didn’t seem to mind how absorbed he got by nature documentaries and sports games. They would chill together on the couch and she would read or play a video game while he tracked the ball with his eyes. 

When it came to sex, he always had to hold back a little, couldn’t get too rough - too much risk in breaking the skin. But now she was here, standing in front of him practically naked, on the very edge of his transformation. Looking and smelling like she had only one thing on her mind. All the safe, responsible things he ought to do flashed through his mind, but they were drowned out by the instinctive pull of her. 

He stepped to her, feeling as if he were being dragged by an irresistible force, grabbing the champagne from her hand and slamming it down on the table behind her, very aware of her body heat and the sound of her pulse. He grabbed her and pulled her into him, lapping at the little hollow in her throat, twining his fingers in her hair and biting at her chin before licking into her mouth. She giggled and got her leg round his waist, pulling him closer, but he shook her off. He was the dominant one. 

Ignoring the rapidly-dwindling human part of him as it stressed about his approaching transformation, he spun her round and bent her forward over the table, pinning her by the hips as he dropped to his knees behind her. The scent of her was tantalising to him at the best of times, but so close before him it was making him wild. Sniffing each other was generally frowned upon in human society, and Anton craved it desperately as a form of intimacy. There was the Pack, of course, but you got a bit used to the same old crotches and pits after a while. There was nothing stopping him now though, and he ripped her panties away and delightedly buried his face between her cheeks. PJ used a sweet smelling body lotion, some kind of coconutty stuff, and the man in him always liked it, but the wolf was far more interested in the personal, musky scent beneath. 

“Anton!” she gasped delightedly as he lapped at her, and he growled with pleasure at the sound of his name on her lips. It must have felt nice, because she gasped and pressed back against him until he could feel her wet on his chin, grinding shamelessly against his face as he fucked her with his tongue. The scent and the taste of her soon drowned all rational thought, signals telling him that she was his and she was ready to mate, was _eager_... On top of it all was the urgent sensation in his spine that meant the full moon was nearly upon him, and he felt like he could burst with excitement. He shoved his tracksuit down, his prick bouncing stiffly to attention. The sounds she made as he pushed into her were incredible. She was so warm and wet and welcoming, and he was in her right to the hilt. 

“Oh, that’s lovely,” he moaned. “You lovely, lovely bitch...”

He kept one hand on her hip, pinning her exactly where he wanted her. The other wrapped around her ponytail, tugging her back onto him with every thrust. PJ could feel his breath hot on her face as he panted in her ear. He was big, and the force of each thrust jolted her forward, her nipples pressing down against the smooth cold tabletop.

“Ah, you’re so wet,” he groaned. “So wet, so hot and wet and tasty just for me... gonna fuck you, gonna fill you up, I’m gonna... oh I’m gonna... ohhhhh...”

His voice tailed off into a sound that was almost a howl. She moaned in response and arched her back, trying to get her hand down to her clit. Her wrist hurt where it was pressing against the edge of the table, but she was past caring, stroking furiously with her fingers as he pounded her, pulling her back by her hair to meet every thrust. Anton was making sounds like she’d never heard before, and she yelled in reply, her body shaking as she clenched around him and came. 

Anton pulled out of her and she stood on trembling limbs, turning to face him. He was the smallest guy she’d ever dated, but for some reason his shoulders looked broader now, his heaving chest deeper. He yanked his pants back up and stared at her, face a strange combination of triumph and guilt. He was always a bit highly strung, but this was the most tense she’d ever seen him. 

“Oh fu- oh flipping heck,” he was muttering under his breath. “What am I going to tell the others - what am I going to tell your mum?”

“Tell them about what?” PJ was still dazed by what had just happened between them, very aware of the way his semen had started to slip down the inside of her thigh, the beard rash that had started to sting. 

Anton seemed to come to some decision. He grabbed up the crate he’d been carrying when she first arrived, and as his elbow flexed the sleeve of his jacket slid back a little. The backs of his hands and wrists were _definitely_ hairier than they’d been before, but that was wasn’t what was bothering her the most. The crate contained a pile of what looked like chain, neatly coiled, and heavy looking padlocks. 

“Come on then!” Anton insisted. 

“Are those... for me?” He’s going to kill me, she thought. The mild mannered tech support thing is all an act, this is where he comes every month to kill prostitutes or something, he’s going to chain me up and kill me...

“No, they’re for me! Come on,” he said again. “There’s not enough time now for you to get clear if you leave... this is the only way!” He darted out of the room ahead of her, down the stairs to the basement. He’d always been rather wiry, but he really was carrying the crate as though it weighed nothing. 

A single flight of stairs lead to a sparse basement, with raw brick walls covered in egg boxes. Thick old carpets lined the ceilings and floors, presumably it had been some band’s rehearsal space. The only unusual feature was a large iron ring that stuck out of one of the walls - the kind of “original feature” that would have let the owner charge double what the place was worth, it was where Anton was heading now.

He dropped the crate as a shudder ran through him. She could see his fists clench and his jaw tighten as his whole body went rigid. Finally the spasm passed. “Do the breathing thing,” he murmured to himself, chest heaving. He span round and grabbed her by the shoulders, eyes wide and face red. “I need you to help me - help chain me. On there. It’s hard when my nails keep growing...” 

She looked down at his hands and saw that was an understatement. They were more like claws, long and sharp and pushing out through the ends of his fingers. It looked agonising, and he flinched and moaned. When he opened his eyes, she noted with a start that his pupils were large and dark, on a distinctly yellow looking background. A thrill of terror mingled with something else ran through her, and her first instinct was to run, but she remembered what he’d said, how little time there was left... 

Anton was trying to wrap the chains around his own wrists with hands that no longer seemed to quite belong to him, growling with frustration. She knelt beside him and threaded the first chain through the hook before passing it gently around his neck. He threw his head back and let out a chilling sound that was definitely almost a howl, and she recognised how hard he was fighting to hold himself back. Through her fear she felt a stab of compassion for him, chaining himself up every month down here, a monster all alone, and she stroked his hair and kissed his forehead, soothing him as she tightened his shackles. Her skin was itching, she thought vaguely. There had to be a bunch of dust down here. 

Anton stared up at her. His sideburns has erupted, had spread to cover almost his entire face, his teeth were lengthening, but somehow she recognised a very human expression as his face fell. “No...” he whispered hoarsely. 

“It’s alright,” PJ tried to reassure him. “It’s alright, we got them all on in time...” For some reason she was finding it hard to talk. Her joints were hurting, her vision blurred. She reached out to support herself against the wall, and as everything went black she heard Anton howl, and a second, answering howl rose up from somewhere close by.

Anton woke up and groaned at the usual post-transformation hangover. He was still in his chains, but there was blood in his mouth. The man felt sick at the taste, the wolf revelled in it - but how had he hunted? 

He opened his eyes and saw PJ, curled naked on the floor beside him. Her flanks were covered in bruises and scratches, and vague images began to come back to him. He didn’t form memories in the same way when he was transformed, but there had been the hot sweet moonlight, and the chains... and there had been another wolf, a silver female. She’d rolled on her back and shown her belly, the mark of respect he was due as the alpha, and he’d approved. They’d shared her kill and then she’d licked him, first the painful places where his chains were too tight, then lots of other fun places too. Judging by the way his back ached they’d spent all night rutting. He hoped they had. 

As he began the process of unchaining himself, his eyes fell on a few scraps of fur, a little leather collar with “Ollie” on the tag. 

Oh, dear. “Sorry, little guy,” he murmured. PJ awoke at the sound, stretched and sat up, and he watched her closely. It was always the worst the first time. 

“Are you alright?” he asked. “I think I ruined your underwear...”

She stared at him for a moment with a kind of exhilarated horror, then began to laugh, a warm, genuine sound that made him grin with relief. 

“Right,” he said with more authority. “Let’s get a change of clothes, pick up the boys and go for a Pack breakfast. We’ve got some things to talk about.” She accepted his offer of an arm up. “Denny’s?”


End file.
